Running Down a Dream

Buffering Myself Prior to Facing the News of the Day

I am a person of great empathy, whether I like it or not. These days, I find it necessary to search for fictional stories that take me away to a place, a time, that I have never known.

I realized this when deep into my stack of Social Justice books, cherishing each new piece of reality, truth, answers, I felt crushed under the weight of it all. Being in a state of “flattened” is no way to help anyone, including myself.

So, I turned to nature by planning my gardens for the house we moved into in September, and…to watching reruns of “Dr. Quinn Medicine Woman.” Okay, does a man like Sully actually exist? Is there a man out there who is himself, and also a steadfast supporter of a woman who stands up for what she believes in, not trying to reign her in, but adding to her life in a supportive, team effort? No, I do not think so and that is probably why he is such a great character. I digress.

I also listen to music, very loudly, in the car and sing at the top of my lungs. The other day, while driving to work, Tom Petty blasting, “Running Down a Dream,” a young scooter student gave me the “Rock on” sign with his hands. I had to laugh. I imagined him relaying the story to his friends like this: “So, I’m riding my scooter to class early, and this grey-haired lady pulls up next to me, blasting her music-classic.”

Or perhaps, he thought I was ridiculous. I don’t care. I shall continue my Rock and Roll Therapy sessions as they insulate me from being absolutely rendered gob smacked, always wondering, “What fresh hell will the day in politics hold today?”

As for my gardens, I am going for wild, free and (much like my music) blasting with color. First, I have to put the hand powered soil cultivator together. I eschew power tools as they are just so damned noisy. I say this now, but wait until my cultivator hits the hard dirt, and my spindly, little arms are shaking and my legs trying valiantly to push the damn thing forward, me cussing all the way. I am determined and when I am angry and determined, watch out. I will pop like a cork, and I have a feeling this is just the energy needed for me to make my Amish Cultivator do what I need it to do.

I am starting in the backyard, as it is fenced in and no one will see me struggle. This is important to my soul. It always has been, so it’s not like a phenomena of being 63-years old. Once I have this gizmo figured out, I shall move to the front of the house, and attack the patch of scrubby, ugly grass-like stuff on the strip between the sidewalk and the street. I am going to turn it into a wildflower patch. Wild and free.

Long ago, I was suffering under the reign of power of a man, and I’d finally had it and yelled, “No one controls Mary McKnight!” Apparently, I did not yell it loud enough to my soul, as I repeated the very same dynamic once more in another relationship. Never again.

I am a wild horse, with a long, silvery mane and I shall not be reined in by anyone or anything. I am returning to that girl of age fourteen, only with the wisdom and reality earned through years of living.

I am not heartless. Quite the contrary. I just need to steel myself so that I can be an allie to myself and to those who are being trodden upon.

So, bring on the Springsteen, the cultivator, the patch of useless grass, the power of story and I am ready. What do you need to buffer yourself? Drop me a line below if you would be so kind. You know I love the stories of others. You don’t have to agree with me. Just be kind to me in your disagreement. Rock on.